The fire hydrant near the house is the same one that years-ago Miranda and friends used to wrench open in order to baptize themselves with icy water on scorchers like this; the front stoop—the same one where he now sits, at 36, with his father, Luis, a political consultant who is 62—is where, as a kid always filming himself, he delivered some of his best, if most embarrassing, material. Around the corner is Academy Street, what used to be gang territory in his youth, where at the first hint of trouble he’d hightail it, painfully aware of his own mortality. “I knew when to run the fuck home,” Miranda says, dunking a raisin bagel in his coffee. “I was Peter on The Cosby Show, you know? Like, they would get into some shit, and Peter would run out the door. That was me. I was like, ‘I am out!’ ” [source]
